


That Blessed Arrangement

by WebbedUpKatanas



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Married Sex, Mostly Fluff, touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WebbedUpKatanas/pseuds/WebbedUpKatanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for some anons who wanted marriage and porn! In which Wade angsts and then 'boring' married sex is had!</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Blessed Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> The picture mentioned is this one by Captaindick: http://captaindick.deviantart.com/art/Suit-up-358071787

The creak of the door opening is the only sound to disturb the quiet calm of the house. Through the window he can see rain falling in silver sheets, highlighted by the dusky glow of a streetlamp, but the window is not his focus. No, he has a greater purpose. He stalks in like a panther, silent and dangerous, focused on the bedroom door, beyond which his prey lies unaware and vulnerable, ripe for the taking.

“Wade?”

He pauses mid tiptoe, balancing precariously as he holds his breath and waits with the steady patience of a predator.

“If you’re planning on sneaking up on me I’m going to web you to the wall and leave you there,” Peter calls to him.

Well, that could be fun if-

“And not in a fun way,” he adds “I’m trying to calibrate the settings on this new-” he pauses pragmatically. “I’m doing science,” he clarifies, his tone both amused and exasperated.

Wade shrugs and stomps to the bedroom, rounding the corner ready to protest both the accusation of sneaking and the dig at his intelligence when he’s brought up short by the menacing presence of an object on the bedside table.

It’s their wedding picture.

As far as menacing objects go it’s pretty benign. Just a framed photo of them standing side by side in their Sunday best, both smiling and, more importantly, both maskless.

“I thought we were keeping that in the drawer,” Wade says. The darkness of his own tone surprises him, but if Peter is intimidated by the threat in his voice he doesn’t show it.

“Remind me again why that is?” Peter asks, carefully replacing the technology he’s been tinkering with back into a drawer to avoid Wade breaking it and picking the picture up for closer inspection.

It’s not that Wade doesn’t like it.

In fact, the memories attached to it are some of the best of his life. It’s just that Wade Wilson and photographs are not now, nor will they ever be friends. He doesn’t need his twisted face, made rough by scars and tumours, immortalized. It’s not like he can forget them. No matter how often he’s tried, the image of his gnarled skin has been burned in his brain and written on his body in a constantly flowing script of pain.

“Are you kidding me? Like I need the reminder that you didn’t even let me wear a wedding dress! I mean, I had a spot on Say Yes to the Dress and everything,” he gripes pathetically. “I was this close to having Randy tell me I was glowing,” he strikes a pose, feeling triumphant when Peter’s mouth turns up at the corners. Then of course he has to ruin it by adding, “And then there’s you know… the whole face thing.”

Peter’s amused smile crumbles like a building full of semtex.

“Wade, you look good in this picture. Really good,” Peter tries, though he already knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

Wade sighs.

Peter’s going to want to talk about this. Again.

He considers the possibility for a second but it’s so much easier to stage a tactical retreat, so Wade does. It’s not running away, he just knows when to hold ‘em, knows when to fold ‘em, knows when to walk away and definitely knows when to run.

“Let’s just agree to disagree,” he huffs as Peter tugs him down onto the bed.

The picture is relegated to the bedside table as Peter climbs onto him, sitting just above his knees and leaning in. He kisses him once, twice, again and again and lets his hands cup the back of Wade’s head to hold him there as he peppers his mouth with kisses.

Wade sighs, mostly at how girly this is, but also maybe slightly because he feels like a popsicle that’s been left out in the sun. All melty and shivery and warm. He’s also sort of hoping that there’s gonna be a stick up someone’s ass sometime soon, and not the kind that Scott Summers has lodged firmly around the region of his colon. No, the fun kind; although thinking about his ex’s father has kinda taken the edge off of any arousal he might have been feeling at having his husband on his lap, which is really a shame.

Sometimes all this domesticity scares Wade. Hell it terrifies him to the very core of his being, to the point where there are some days all he wants to do is run away, when he feels the fear so deep in his bones that he’s struck by the need to escape this little slice of heaven before it inevitably crumbles to dust around him. Knowing his luck he wont even be wearing his maid costume for the cleanup.

But something about Peter always keeps him there, stuck halfway between horror and bliss like a broken speedometer. He doesn’t know were they are headed, and he didn’t bring any snacks and he had to pee three exits ago, but Peter’s presence is enough to shut him up and make him enjoy the ride. He also seems to have the power to bring out all of Wade’s most terrible metaphors, which is fairly irksome but he puts up with it.

It’s made all the more easy to put up with when Peter moves in that sinuous way he has, climbing up into his lap and massaging at that one spot on his neck that makes him practically purr in delight.

“Good evening Mr. Wilson,” he growls into Peter’s ear, wrapping his arms around his waist as the man settles in his lap.

“Mmm, I thought we went over this. You told me I couldn’t go messing with alteration like that or I’d bring on the wrath of the gods,” Peter laughs, lacing their fingers together and pulling them up to rest on his chest.

“The wrath of the writers Petey,” Wade corrects him patiently.

Peter just looks at him like he’s insane, although that particular look is one Wade knows all too well.

“But hey, we only have so long before something goes horribly wrong anyways right? I mean this domestic bliss stuff is fine but it doesn’t sell. I figure why not live it up while we can? So Mr. Wilson it is.”

If the confusion and concern on Peter’s face are anything to go by he’s just making things worse with every word, but Pete surprisingly manages to take it in stride. It’s one of the things Wade loves about him, he can look crazy straight in its ugly face and keep on pushing forward.

“Surely I can call you Mr. Parker then, right?” he asks, his breathing starting to pick up as Wade’s hand slides over the smooth expanse of his chest.

“You can call me whatever you want, just don’t call me Shirley.”

“Airplane?” Peter asks incredulously, breaking contact to stare at him. He looks like he expected better, which is just ridiculous considering who he’s talking to.

“You walked right into that one.”

Peter rolls off of him, sprawling down across his side of the bed with his face buried firmly in his pillow, groaning.

Wade’s face morphs into something that is very similar to, but not quite, a moody pout. Whatever the manly version that doesn’t make him sound like a grumpy five year old girl. He likes to think of himself as being like a doberman, adorable maybe, but also blessed with the ability to rip out your throat with his teeth.

And with that pleasant thought he begins operation ‘Seduce Peter Parker and Reduce Him to a Whimpering Mess”. First he tries removing his shirt all slow and sexy, but Peter seems unimpressed, largely due to the fact that his face is still pressed into the pillow so hard it’s a wonder he hasn’t asphyxiated.

Stroking his back sensually does absolutely nothing to entice him back onto his lap. He does manage to pull his pants down and off without a fuss, but Peter doesn’t move beyond lifting his hips to help get them down. Pinching his butt just to hear his indignant squeak is satisfying, but only serves to make him turn over onto his back and glare.

“Shouldn’t we be having some sort of biweekly boring married couple sex?” Wade asks him with his not-pout still firmly in place. He takes a moment to rake his gaze along the smooth stretch of naked skin on display, noting that he is at least a little bit excited from the earlier stroking.

Peter snorts. “Biweekly? Don’t you think that’s asking a bit much of your libido? You can barely go half a day-”

“Not the point!” Wade interrupts. He crawls across the bed to hover over him, straddling his stomach and using his arms to brace himself up above him.

“The point is, I’m supposed to come on to you, you’re supposed to complain you have a headache and then I pester you until you give in and let me have my way with you. Like a 60’s sitcom,” he pauses for a moment to leer suggestively down at him. “So whatta ya say Petey? Can we go all the way?”

“Wade, we’ve only been married for a few months. I don’t know about you, but I feel like we’re still in the honeymoon stage,” Peter laughs, grabbing his shoulders. He pitches his voice lower, just above a whisper as he says “And I don’t have a headache,” before pulling his husband down into a kiss.

Wade is making sounds that have very little to do with the pleasure of kissing, but he hasn’t pulled away so Peter persists, running his tongue along the top of his mouth to make him groan, until it becomes too obnoxious to go on. “- and it’s really no fun if you don’t play along. I mean you could at least pretend you don’t find me irresistible. You know let me try to seduce you instead of being so easy all the time. A little cat and mouse goes a long way and-”

Peter slaps a hand over his mouth to cut off the babble. “Or, you could just stop talking and kiss me,” he proposes with a smug grin. Wade yells something that sounds suspiciously like ‘never!’ and starts licking. When that fails the biting starts, and Peter finally pulls his hand back with a grimace.

“You are such a child.”

“This coming from the man who bought a whoopie cushion yesterday,” Wade shoots back. Not that he hadn’t thoroughly approved of the purchase and joined in the whoopie shenanigans. No man can resist the lure of the fart joke.

“You’re just mad I won the whoopie war,” Peter says smugly. It’s obvious by the way he’s leaning back and lounging carelessly on Wade’s thighs that he’s lost his single-minded focus on sexing Wade up. Between the two of them it’s not clear how anything actually gets past the talking stage.

Wade decides that a more direct route is necessary and grabs his hand to suck two of his fingers into his mouth suggestively. Peter sighs, shifting so that Wade can feel how hard he’s getting against his thigh. He adds just a hint of suction, laving at the fingers with his tongue as he quirks his eyebrows at Peter, making him laugh. He pulls back and mouths at Peter’s ring, tracing the edges of it with his tongue, and Peter hums, a pleased little sound to express the rush of affection that accompanies Wade’s veneration of the gold band.

Wade doesn’t usually wear his ring. His arms and hands and fingers get cut off too often, and he doesn’t want to lose it over something as stupid as dismemberment. But every night, like clockwork he slips it on just before he climbs into bed, placing it on his finger with a reverence that is both charming and just a little bit amusing in it’s seriousness.

Now he can feel it pressed against his skin where Wade is clutching his arm, and the whole thing gives him a dizzy sort of feeling of wonder. The heat between their bodies is palpable as they breathe each other’s air, and Peter smiles angelically while he pulls Wade’s pants down with his free hand so that he can slide his palm against the length of his erection.

Wade gasps becomingly and shudders, which he would deny if he still had the presence of mind to think anything beyond heat, and movement, and Peter. His lips finally leave Peter’s wedding ring to capture his mouth again and they kiss slow and sweet, the languid motions of their mouths at odds with fast movements of Peter’s hand on his cock.

His fingers settle into the well mapped dip at the small of Peter’s back, stroking gently at the heated skin there as Peter begins to grind down against him. They don’t have to reach far for the lube and Peter wastes no time preparing himself, using his impressive multitasking skills to tug Wade off slowly at the same time.

They writhe together, stoking the flames of their pleasure Peter losing himself in the feeling of his fingers stretching him open and the feel of Wade’s cock rubbing against his own, while Wade bucks up eagerly into the friction, using his thumb to spread precome along their lengths. The slippery motions of Wade’s hand along both of their shafts is maddening, so hot that Peter can barely bring himself to remove his fingers so that Wade can line himself up. He pushes inexorably up, sliding slick and slow into the tight heat of him. Peter winces just slightly, so Wade grits his teeth and goes as slow as he can until the grimace fades to be replaced by look of bliss as he works his way into him.

“Bored?” Peter asks, aiming for smugness but his tone comes out more breathy and lustful than anything. He seats himself fully on Wade’s cock with a bitten back sound, his hands sliding up his chest to squeeze briefly at his nipples.

“Not yet. Better keep trying,” Wade replies haltingly, sliding his hands down Peter’s back to grip his hips tightly. Holding him he stands in one fluid motion, bouncing Peter on his cock. The man in his arms moans brokenly, wrapping his legs around Wade’s waist and squirming in ways that are simultaneously maddening and ridiculously hot.

Peter’s nails dig sharply into his shoulders, both of them groaning as gravity helps Wade’s cock sink deep inside of him with each bounce. The muscles on Peter’s wiry frame are more obvious when they are pressed together like this, and Wade can feel them shift as he puts them to use, lifting himself up and down even as Wade thrusts into him.

“You really aren’t selling this ‘boring’ thing,” Peter manages through a ragged moan.

“You’re never going to let that go are you?” Wade asks with a grin to match Peter’s as he shakes his head no. “I guess I’ll just have to make you forget then.”

He sets him back down on the bed on his back, using the new angle to drive into him harder and deeper. The pace is frantic and almost overwhelming for them both. Peter breathes his name with each thrust, clawing at his back frantically as he is fucked into the mattress.

“What?” Wade pants, barely aware that he’s speaking. “No clever quips? No-huh shit god that’s good- no jabs about being bored? C’mon Spidey, I thought you were supposed to be witty and-”

Peter leans up and captures his mouth, effectively shutting him up though they are both breathing too heavily for it to be a proper kiss. Wade continues to work him until he’s thrashing on the bed with need, jolting each time Wade manages to hit that spot inside him that makes him see sparks behind his eyelids so bright that Jubilee would be proud.

“Wade,” he huffs already more than halfway out of his mind in the all encompassing need to orgasm. He’s right at the edge, straining for it with an almost mindless insistence, but it remains just out of reach, even when Wade’s hand teases along his cock.

He barely knows what he’s saying by the time he whines “Yours,” making it impossible for Wade not to come on the spot with a tortured groan.

Peter follows, finally finally tipping over the edge with a relieved sigh, going utterly lax in Wade’s arms. They lay there for a few seconds before Wade laughs into his hair, burying his face in the softness of it and rolls them over into a more comfortable position.

“I take it back,” he rumbles in amusement as Peter clings to him, more like a spider-monkey than a spider. “Not boring. So not boring. Least boring thing I’ve done all day, and I did a backflip off of a giraffe earlier.”

Peter gives him a fond, sleepy look and kisses his collar bone. “Good to know,” he mumbles against his skin, and Wade shivers despite himself, because hello, a naked man in his arms kissing him. How often does that happen.

Come to think of it… every night. Huh.

“Oh and by the way, if I go out there and see you tracked blood in on your boots again you’re sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week,” Peter adds, snuggling in even closer, the stretch of his naked body pressed tight against him.

Wade just laughs, pulling him even closer and settling in to watch him sleep. And maybe jerk off quietly, which so isn’t creepy when it’s your husband, he swears.

And if he forgets to ‘accidentally’ knock that damn picture over before Peter wakes up he can blame it entirely on Peter’s talent at exhausting him so thoroughly.


End file.
